wwjbd

or What Would James Bond Do

So of course the morning I do a post on how the furnace hasn't gone out it goes out that evening, and doesn't stay lit. So last night Tim gets home, eats, and then gets suited up to do battle in the cold. In the mean time I'm cleaning up after supper when his phone vibrates. I pick it up and say, "That's funny it didn't ring, I was standing here the whole time." I then turn around and continue wiping. A couple of seconds later I turn back and see him poking at the phone with his hand over the screen. "Are you texting?" I asked in an amazed voice.

Ok, I know this makes me so totally uncool, but I believe that texting is best left to people who are not grown men. Something about it really turns me off. Picture someone who is the epitiamy of manhood, like James Bond, poking at his phone using stupid abbreviations. You can't right? I rest my case.

So back to our conversation. He shows me his screen. "wtf," I exclaim. "What are you a sixteen year old girl." "Your just jealous you don't know anyone who text messages," he replies.

Which is not true. Tom and Jen text message. For some reason I accept this. Maybe because when they started they were actually teenagers. Maybe because they are so darned cute because for some strange reason they seem to still want to talk to each other after being married for two+ years. I think of them as young and cute. I don't want to think of my husband as young and cute. I want him to be a tool wielding, furnace fixing machine. And this text messaging crap is interfering with both.

The phone vibrates again. "idk, what does that mean?" he asks. I feel a little better because if he doesn't know all the slang maybe he's just starting down this dark path and he can still be saved. "I don't know, maybe," I reply. He types away furiously for a bit and then heads down to the basement. I assume he is going to get tools, but after the minutes drag by I figure out he's down there texting where I can't see him. So the situation has gone from weird to creepy and no one is fixing the heat. -sigh-

James Bond wouldn't sit in his basement text messaging. And you know what, James Bond wouldn't come to bed smelling like burnt corn either. But I suppose I'm disappointing in ways too. I imagine Bond girls shave their legs more than once a month.